


Like a rose that runs wild as it grows

by AndalusianSunshine



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Girlfriends/No Wives, Bodyswap, Fluff and Crack, Friends to Lovers, Inspired by Real Events, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:28:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23245540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndalusianSunshine/pseuds/AndalusianSunshine
Summary: Losing a pre-season friendly becomes the least of Sergio's problems when he finds himself stuck in Gerard Piqué's body.Will they be able to switch back before anyone finds out and how will Sergio adapt when he suddenly has to play for his rival team?
Relationships: Gerard Piqué/Sergio Ramos
Comments: 37
Kudos: 113





	1. A bad dream

**Author's Note:**

> This fic starts during the 2019/20 preseason, right after Madrid lost 3:7 against Atletico Madrid and will losely follow the rest of the season.
> 
> I probably won't be able to update every week like last time, but i'll try to get a new chapter out every other or every 3 weeks.
> 
> Title borrowed from _Fall on me_ by Kitten.

_7 goals conceded …_

Sergio isn't in the mood to socialize when they get back to the hotel. There’s going to be a late dinner and he knows some of his teammates will spend the rest of the night chatting or playing video games, trying to wind down from the match, but he’d rather go to bed hungry than engage in inane small talk, not after such a crushing defeat and especially because he’d been on the pitch for most of those goals, could have done something against them, should have. It stings and it hurts his pride that they played like this, defended like this or rather didn’t defend at all and especially against one of their fiercest rivals. Doesn’t matter that it was just a preseason friendly, doesn’t matter that it won’t count for anything. 

He reaches for the remote and flops down into the only chair in his room, an uncomfortable armchair that creaks under his weight and is really too small for his frame, but he’s too tired to undressed enough so he can get into bed. He listlessly flicks through the channels, already knowing there won’t be anything good on, but he does it anyway, trying to while away the time until his eyes grow heavy from sleep.

He cringes when he stumbles upon a rerun of the match and no thank you, he definitely doesn’t want to relive that ever again. Eventually he settles on some cheesy romance movie, mostly because there isn’t anything better on and he needs something to distract his mind, but he can barely follow the plot, can barely understand their rapid chatter and yet it still seems utterly ridiculous how they fall into each others arms after barely knowing each other and there was a time when he used to dream of a love just like this, with feelings so big they could overcome anything. Now he knows better.

His phone dings with a message, just when he’s finally gathered enough strength to actually go to bed. 

He sinks back into the chair with a groan, frowning at his screen when he sees who sent the message and in hindsight he should have probably known better than to open a message from Piqué on a day like this.

**Quality performance tonight. I see you’re gonna go for all titles this season.**

**Didn’t know you paid such close attention to our matches.** Sergio texts back, tries not to let Gerard’s words get to him too much.

**I’ve got a collection of all your best defeats.**

Sergio feels bile rise in his throat. **Fuck you** he begins to type, but never hits send. He’s not going to take the bait this time, he’s going to take the high road here, no matter how much his fingers itch to let Gerard know just what he thinks of him. He’s not going to get into another senseless argument that’s going to end in nothing but him feeling frustrated and irritated.

 **Are you as excited for the next clasico as i am?** Gerard keeps going undeterred, like Sergio isn’t trying his best to ignore him. **I hope you can keep up your current form.**

Sergio barely resists the urge to throw his phone at the wall and it doesn’t make any sense that Gerard would text him now. They’ve barely spoken, barely had any contact outside the pitch since Gerard retired from the national team, so why would he suddenly message him today of all days if not out of pure spite.

He lets his head sag backwards with a sigh, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling coiling in his gut. He’s done getting riled up by Gerard childish antics, but he’s got a splitting headache now and not even closing his eyes is doing much to alleviate the pain.

*

The first thing he notices when he wakes up, blinking his bleary eyes open carefully, is that he’s not sitting in that armchair anymore. Instead he’s lying in a soft bed, covered with a plush blanket, but he doesn’t think much of it. He figures he must have moved to the bed some time during the night, even if he doesn’t remember any of it.

It’s only when he rolls over and suddenly realizes the window is on the wrong side of the room that he begins to wonder, sitting up with a jolt and hurriedly rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and wait! Where are the tattoos on his hands and why are his fingers so weirdly long?

He jumps out of bed, his heart beating wildly in his chest and everything about his body feels off. His tattoos are gone and so are most of his muscles, his arms seem almost scarily thin and his legs too long and the more differences he discovers the more he feels like he can’t breathe.

And God this must be a bad dream. It has to be. A terribly vivid nightmare. There’s no other explanation for it, there can’t be and yet his heart won’t stop pounding in fear and he can’t help but feel like he’s on the verge of a panic attack.

He almost doesn’t dare walk over to the floor-length mirror and taking in his surroundings, even just out of the corner of his eyes, there’s no doubt left anymore that this isn’t his hotel room, that he’s never been here before in his life. 

His palms are damp with sweat when he finally dares to look up and no, fuck, it can’t be. It can’t - but no matter how often he blinks or shakes his head, it’s still Piqué’s face staring back at him out of the mirror, his piercing blue eyes and his lanky limbs, his stupidly messy hair, expression just as terrified as Sergio feels.

Sergio runs his fingers through his hair and Piqué in the mirror does the same, still does the same when Sergio pinches his side and scratches his beard and Sergio doesn’t know if he should laugh or cry. Things like this only happens in bad movies, it doesn’t happen in real life and it definitely doesn’t happen to him.

He stumbles back to the bed, plopping down with a heavy sigh and he has no idea what to do now as he buries his head in his hands. 

So apparently he’s stuck in Piqué’s body now. It sounds ridiculous, even in his own head.

Sergio doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting like this, slumped over and hopeless, until it finally occurs to him that if he’s stuck in Piqué’s body, Gerard must very likely be stuck in his as well. 

Now he only needs to find a way to contact him.

He eventually finds Gerard’s phone on the nightstand next to the bed, but of course it’s locked and password protected and it’s not like it would help him much since he doesn’t know Gerard’s number of the top of his head anyway.

He’s still glaring at the phone in his hand when it suddenly starts ringing, startling him so violently he almost drops it on the floor and as if this day couldn’t get any weirder, it’s his own name flashing in big letters on the screen.

It must be Piqué, he thinks, accepting the call with shaking fingers. “How did you get my number?”

For the longest time Gerard’s only answer is laughter. “What would i even need your number for?” he finally forces out, gasping for breath. “You’re in my body, you have my phone. All i had to do to reach you was call myself.”

“Oh.” 

“God, you’re such an idiot sometimes.”

“That still doesn’t explain how you managed to get into my phone,” Sergio says petulantly and God he hates feeling stupid, especially because he knows Gerard won’t let this go for a very long time.

“9248 really isn’t the most original password,” Gerard says and Sergio can picture his smug grin all too clearly. “It took me less then three tries.”

“Hmpf,” is Sergio’s very disgruntled and not at all eloquent response.

“You know, I’m actually still surprised it wasn’t your own birthday,” Gerard teases and Sergio has to laugh against his will. No matter how annoying it might be, there’s something strangely comforting about Gerard’s teasing, the only constant and familiar thing in this utter madness and yes he’s definitely starting to lose his mind if he’s starting to think of Gerard as anything but a nuisance.

“So i take it you’ve looked in the mirror?” he asks superfluously, because why else would he have called him, but a part of him is still hoping this is all just a bad dream.

“Yeah. Not the most pleasant experience having to look at your face this early in the morning.” 

“Funny,” Sergio rolls his eyes and not for the first time he wonders what he ever did to deserve this, why it had to be Gerard of all people when they’ve never been particularly close. None of it makes any sense. “How did this even happen?” 

“How would i know?” ”Gerard groans and Sergio can’t help but notice that he suddenly sounds incredibly tired. “When i went to bed everything was fine and then i suddenly wake up in a strange chair, in someone else’s body. Why the fuck did you have to fall asleep in a chair anyway? My entire back hurts,” Gerard falls silent for a moment. “And why is your shoulder so fucked up?”

“My shoulder is perfectly fine,” Sergio snaps and wanders over to the bed, let’s himself drop onto it, listlessly bouncing a few times before his weight finally settles on the too soft mattress.

“It’s clearly not and we both know it.”

Sergio buries his head in the pillow, tries not to let his exasperation seep too much into his voice. “Is that really what you’re gonna focus on now? Shouldn’t we figure out how to switch back?”

“And what do you propose we do? I didn’t even know this was possible until about 20 minutes ago. I still can’t believe it actually is,” there’s some strange rustling going on on the other end of the phone and Sergio is dying to ask what the hell Gerard is doing, but he bites his lip instead. “It sounds like the plot of a bad movie.”

Sergio nods to himself, suddenly wishing Gerard was here with him, just so he wouldn’t feel so alone, so he could look at his face and not have to gauge his reaction from a few short sentences said through the phone. “We can’t be the only people this has happened to. There’s gotta be some sort of research on it.”

“Have fun googling that,” Gerard laughs humourlessly. “I promise you you’re not gonna find anything helpful.”

“Do you always have to be this contrary?” 

“Sorry,” Gerard responds and he almost sounds contrite. It unsettles Sergio more than anything. “It’s either this or freaking out. This whole thing is seriously fucked up.”

“I know,” Sergio sighs heavily. “And we need to figure something out fast. We’re both in the middle of pre-season. It’s gonna be suspicious if we both just disappear.”

“So what? We just pretend we’re each other. That’s never gonna work. I don’t even know where the fuck i am. How do you expect me to fool your team mates?” Gerard says, an edge of desperation in his voice. 

“Do we have any other choice?” Sergio shifts his phone from one ear to the other, tries to quell the panic rising in his chest. “We’re … no wait, you’re …fuck this is confusing,” he rubs his temples, takes a deep breath. “Madrid is flying home tonight, so you won’t have to interact with anyone much. Just lie low until it’s time to leave for the airport and you should be fine. When am i going back?”

“Tomorrow afternoon.”

“Good,” Sergio says, already feeling a little less freaked out. “We can manage to pretend for a day and then we can meet up and figure this thing out.”

“I guess so,” Gerard agrees and Sergio breathes out in relief. He had expected a lot more resistance, but now he doesn’t really know what to say anymore. He fiddles with the drawstrings of his sweats, frowns at the color of them. He wonders what Gerard would look like in white.

“Should we maybe hang up?” Gerard’s voice pulls him back to reality and he shakes his head to get rid of the stray thought.

“We probably should,” he says even though he doesn’t really want to, but there’s no actual reason to stay on the line any longer.

“Text me when you land.”

“I will,” Sergio hesitates, finger already hovering over the screen, ready to end the call, when something occurs to him. “Can you maybe not look through my phone too much,” he asks quietly, hopes Gerard doesn’t read too much into it.

“Don’t worry.” Gerard says and Sergio hates how he can almost hear his grin through the phone. “I have no interest in your ridiculous selfies and dick pics.”

“You’re an idiot,” Sergio laughs, at least partly relieved. “I’m hanging up now.”

Gerard chuckles. “Bye Sergio.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Sergio hangs up and lets the phone drop onto the blanket. He stares down at the Barcelona crest on his sweats, tries not to feel too disgusted by it. It’s going to be a long 24 hours.


	2. What's my favorite color?

Sergio rings the doorbell of his house, shoving his hands into his pockets as he waits and he’s very slowly starting to feel less weirded out by this whole thing, by how his center of gravity has noticeably shifted and the frightening lack of tattoos on his body. He hasn’t tripped or knocked over anything in a while and yes he’s definitely getting used to being in Gerard’s body.

That is until Gerard opens the door and Sergio mouth drops open in shock because _fuck_ looking into his own face has to be the most surreal experience of his life.

“God this is so wrong,” he blurts out instead of a greeting and he can’t stop staring at himself, at his slightly crooked nose and the tattoos scattered across his skin, at how his hair is already starting to curl behind his ears. He’s pretty sure this is how it must feel to have an out of body experience.

“Tell me about it,” Gerard grins wearily. “You’re too damn short. I can’t reach anything anymore.”

“Ugh,” Sergio rolls his eyes. “You’re such a pain in the ass,” and maybe he should be more annoyed about Gerard constantly teasing him, but mostly he’s just grateful for the lack of awkwardness between them. It’s already bad enough without him having to tiptoe around someone’s feelings.

“You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself if i was nice to you,” Gerard laughs and he might not be entirely wrong about that, not that Sergio is ever going to admit to that.

“I need coffee,” he says instead and pushes past Gerard into his house, marches straight towards the kitchen, trying not to dwell too much on how he feels like a stranger in his own home.

When Gerard finally catches up to him, he already has two mugs out on the counter and filled the machine with water. “Did you get lost on the way?” he snickers.

“Shut up,” Gerard chuckles. “Your house is a fucking maze.”

Sergio shrugs good-naturedly. “I thought you would have taken a look around already, gathered enough material to mock me with.”

“Nah,” Gerard awkwardly stops in the middle of the room. “It felt wrong to snoop around your house without you being there,” he makes a vague gesture with his hands, looks a little lost.

“Thanks, I guess,” Sergio hands Gerard his mug and leans against the counter, takes a first tentative sip of his own coffee.

“So, wanna tell me how long it took you to get into my phone?” Gerard asks with a grin, reaching for the sugar bowl. 

Sergio flinches at the amount of sugar Gerard scoops into his mug, puts dietary restrictions on his mental list of things they’ll need to have a talk about. “I’m not a complete idiot, you know,” he says and he’s definitely not going to admit that it took him a good half an hour to remember the existence of Face ID and thank good for Gerard being sensible for once and owning a brand new iphone.

“Sure,” Gerard smirks, but his expression turns serious again very quickly. “Any new ideas how to get out of this mess?”

“Not really,” Sergio answers with a frown. “I was hoping we’d have already switched back after sleeping or maybe after meeting in person. I don’t know. But since that clearly didn’t work. No idea.”

“Shit,” Gerard puts his mug on the counter and runs his fingers through his hair. “I’m seriously going to have to pretend i’m you. I need something stronger.”

And Sergio doesn’t really know what he means until Gerard walks to the fridge and reaches for a bottle of beer. He takes a quick, invasive step forward and snatches the bottle from Gerard’s hands before he even has a chance to open it. “No alcohol during the season,” he says sternly, glaring down at Gerard and it feels strangely satisfying that for once Gerard isn’t the one towering over him.

“Are you serious?” Gerard groans, but he obediently puts the beer back into the fridge, grabs a bottle of water instead.

Sergio shrugs. “I’m not twenty anymore, gotta take care of myself,” he fumbles in his pockets until he finds the list he made on the plane. “Speaking of, since we’re probably gonna be stuck in each other’s bodies for a while, I made some notes for you,” he explains and hands Gerard the piece of paper. It’s a little crumpled at the edges and the writing is smudged in more than one place, but it’s the best he could do with the old invoice he found at the bottom of Gerard’s bag and the broken off stump of a pencil he had to beg from the flight attendant.

He watches Gerard intently as he reads through the list, wonders what he’s going to complain about first and as if on cue Gerard’s eyes dart up, frowning at him disapprovingly.

“What do i need to post daily selfies for?” he asks and Sergio has to bite back a laugh at the disgruntled expression on Gerard’s face.

“I have a social media presence to curate and followers to keep happy and judging from your Instagram account you clearly can’t be trusted with that,” he smiles slyly. “Your follower count is tragic.”

“Fine,” Gerard huffs out. “But you better not complain when i make you look ridiculous.”

Sergio laughs and he’s more than a little surprised at how easily Gerard caved. He’s almost a little disappointed that he didn’t put up more of a fight. “If that’s all you’re gonna do, be my guest.”

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Watching you suffer?” Sergio grins smugly. “It’s the best part of this whole thing.”

“Dog-ear filter it is then,” Gerard teases, throwing the cap of his water bottle at Sergio.

“Don’t you dare,” Sergio splutters, barely able to dodge the small piece of plastic and he’s laughing so hard he almost drops his mug.

Gerard shakes his head, smiling before he directs his attention back to the list. “Let’s see what else you’ve got on here.”

They fall silent again as Gerard keeps reading, his eyes skimming down the page where Sergio had drawn a rough outline of his daily schedule and when he looks up again his eyes are full of horror.

“Two hours of additional work out every night. Are you completely insane?” Gerard groans and Sergio wishes he had his phone close, just so he could take a picture of the pained expression on Gerard’s face.

He reaches over and lifts up Gerard’s shirt, trails his fingers over the sharp outline of his abs and it’s a strange mixture of familiar and intimate, touching his own body with someone else’s fingers. “Do you think this happened by accident?” he pokes at Gerard’s stomach, lingering until Gerard swats his hand away. “It takes hard work and you better not ruin my body while you’re in it.”

“Are you done groping me now?” Gerard frowns at him.

“Technically this is my body, so i can touch it all i want.”

Gerard gives him a pointed look, but remains silent.

Sergio grins mischievously. “You know, maybe it’s actually a good thing i’m stuck in your body,” he pauses for dramatic effect, lazily stirs his coffee. “You clearly have no clue how to properly take care of yourself,” he tentatively lifts Gerard’s shirt, peeks at his stomach. “Your abs are in a sad state, man.”

Gerard rolls his eyes. “You should be glad you’re in my body or i’d be severely tempted to strangle you right now.”

Sergio laughs. “You’re gonna thank me when this is all over.”

“I highly doubt it,” Gerard looks back down at the list, letting out a drawn out sigh. “So we’re really gonna go through with pretending we’re each other?”

“Do we have any other choice?” Sergio shrugs and puts down his empty mug. At this point it’s really nothing but a safety blanket anymore and he’s starting to feel a little stupid clutching at a piece of porcelain like it’s his only lifeline.

Gerard turns to face him. “At least we’re both defender, so we won’t have to worry about the football part of it. Imagine if you were a goalie.”

“We’d both be terrible goalies,” Sergio laughs despite himself, shoves his hands into his pockets because he doesn’t know what else to do with them and he actually wouldn’t mind spending the rest of the day trading insults and jokes with Gerard, anything really to escape the graveness of this whole situation, but he knows eventually they’ll have to deal with the implications of it all.

“True,” Gerard grins, but it looks strained, edged with the same kind of worry that’s currently twisting in Sergio’s gut. “But what are we gonna do about the rest. There’s no way we’ll fool anyone if we actually have to talk to them,” he adds helplessly.

“I know,” Sergio sighs and rubs his hand across his face, but everything about the gesture feels off, a constant reminder of how much has changed in the last twenty-four hours. “We’ll just have to learn as much about each other as possible.” 

Hours later, with night already approaching, they’re camped out at Sergio’s dining table, the shiny surface littered with papers and post-its, a giant box of pizza sitting in the middle.

“Why exactly do i have to memorize a list of all of your achievements?” Sergio groans, dropping his tablet on the table and he’s pretty sure he’s never studied this hard in his life, not even when he was still in school and his mother kept nagging him about his grades and falling asleep in class.

“Because that’s just not something you can mess up on,” Gerard says, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “And it’s not like i’m not doing the same,” he holds up the list he’d hastily scribbled down a few hours ago.

Sergio lets out a displeased grunt, ignoring all the other lists on the table in favor of reaching for another slice of pizza and his head feels so full, he’s sure if he crams one more piece of information into it, he’s going to forget everything else he’s learned today. “How about we do a little test? See how much we actually remember,” he suggests.

“Sure,” Gerard leans back in his chair. “Bring it.”

“So,” Sergio takes another bite. "What's my favorite color?" he narrows his eyes at Gerard like it's the most important question in the world.

Gerard barely manages not to laugh. “No one is ever gonna ask about that.”

"You never know," Sergio grins. "Stop deflecting."

"It's purple," Gerard rolls his eyes, laughs when Sergio's eyes go wide in surprise.

"Wait, how'd you know that?" 

"Because you talk about it in every single interview you give," Gerard rolls his eyes and steals Sergio’s pizza right out of his hands.

“Hey,” Sergio protests, but just before he can attempt to grab it back, a sudden thought occurs to him. “You watch my interviews?” he asks, pizza suddenly forgotten and a smug grin on his face.

“Stop gloating,” Gerard huffs in amusement. “It’s not like anyone living in Spain could possibly ever escape them.”

“If that’s what you need to tell yourself,” Sergio grins and the loss of pizza doesn’t feel so bad anymore, not when this is so much better. “What’s your favorite color?”

“I don’t have one.”

“How can you not have a favorite color?”

Gerard shrugs. “I just don’t have one.”

“Not even blaugrana?”

“That’s two colors.”

‘Whatever,” Sergio waves him off. “What am i supposed to say when someone asks me about it?” 

“Just make one up.”

“You’re no fun,” Sergio grumbles and turns back to the table, riffling through the mess of papers. “What’s up next?”

Gerard groans and rubs his neck tiredly. “I need a break. If i have to learn one more thing about you today my heads gonna explode.”

Sergio nods, scooting back his chair. “You want a tour of the house?”


	3. Back to work

Even after three days it still feels surreal waking up in Gerard’s bed. The windows are too big, the room is too spacious, everything is in weird shades of brown and beige and he can’t help but feel like an intruder. He misses his own home, his colorful decorations and the pictures of his family and it still doesn’t make any sense that Gerard refused to let him sleep in the guestroom. You have too feel comfortable, get used to your new role and whatever, he had said. Sergio doesn’t care and he doesn’t like it. But maybe Gerard does have a point, so he pushes his misgivings to the back of his mind and decides not to defy him, even if he would never find out. He is, however not going to dwell on how it makes him feel that Gerard is currently sleeping in his bed, in Sergio’s bedroom.

He rolls himself out of bed with a groan and shuffles to Gerard’s closet, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he tries to find himself something to wear, but _Ugh_ black, black, black, grey, some more black, the whole selection of non-colors is depressing, so halfway through he moves on from t-shirts to shoes, his mood brightening a little when he finds a pair of bright red sneakers and yes he can definitely work with those.

When he’s finally dressed and ready to go, cup of coffee in hand, there’s a ball of nerves the size of a football rolling around in the pit of his stomach and he’d rather be doing anything else than get into Gerard’s car and drive to training. In less than an hour he’s going to find out just how good he is at impersonating Gerard. It's not the most pleasant thought.

He arrives at Barcelona’s training facility with twenty minutes to spare and that’s just about an unbeatable record for him. He grabs his bag and takes a deep breath, the click of the car keys unmistakably signaling that the easy part of the day is over now. There won’t be a navigation system helping him find his way around from now on, telling him what to do and where to go. He’s suddenly very thankful that Gerard had spent the better part of last night drilling the floorplan of the training complex into his mind, making him memorize all the possible routes to the dressing room and wherever else he might have to go, so he doesn’t stumble around and make a complete fool out of himself.

Closing his eyes he quickly recalls the fastest way to the dressing room. Left, left, right, second door at the end of the corridor, just next to the big club crest. Sounds easy enough.

With renewed courage he steps through the entrance doors, trying his hardest not to recoil from the sheer amount of blaugrana that’s immediately assaulting his every sense, but he still feels like a fraud as he makes his way towards the dressing room. And it becomes painfully evident very quickly how technically knowing the way and actually knowing where to go are too very different things. He has to pause before ever turn, every step he takes, trying to recall the directions and he’s pretty sure everyone is staring at him strangely.

By the time he finally makes it to the dressing room he’s exhausted and irritated and not at all in the mood to deal with a single Barca player, let alone a whole bunch of them, but thankfully the room is still mostly deserted, the few players already there not giving him much attention, only greeting him with a slight nod before they go back to their business and Sergio couldn’t be more thankful for that as he frantically searches the row of lockers for the one with the number three on it. When he finally finds it, stuck between 22 and 8, it takes all of his willpower to keep a scowl off his face. Who ever thought it was a good idea to just allocate the numbers randomly, instead of sorting them in order? Not that he’s particularly surprised, but it still makes him miss the Madrid dressing room and the orderly arrangement of lockers there. The thought sends a sharp jolt of longing through his heart.

One by one the players file into the room, greeting each other with hugs or slaps on their backs, some of them chatting about their latest holiday adventures, but Sergio decides to stick to himself as he changes into his trainings kit. The less attention he draws to himself the better.

“Hey Geri,” someone says from the other side of the room, just as Sergio slips into his shoes and starts lacing them up, not really paying attention to what is going on around him.

“Geri?” The voice has moved closer now and he thinks it might be Jordi, but he can’t be completely sure without looking up and also he doesn’t really care all that much.

“Geri?” The voice is even more insistent now and Sergio’s starting to wonder why the hell Geri isn’t answering until - _Oh right_ , he’s supposed to be Geri now. 

He resists the urge to facepalm and looks up, throwing Jordi what he hopes is a sufficiently apologetic look. “Sorry, i was lost in thought,” he says, earning himself a disbelieving frown from the other player, but before he can prod any further one of the coaches appears, calling them out onto the pitch and saving Sergio from further embarrassment.

Training goes reasonably well. He only messes up the exercises a couple of times, sometimes gets confused by the order of them, but no one seems particularly surprised and when they eventually move on to practice matches he almost starts to feel like himself again. 

They’re already on the way back to the dressing room when Messi intercepts him, matching up his steps with Sergio’s.

“Are you coming tonight?” he asks.

Sergio stares at him blankly, wonders if he should know what he’s talking about, if Geri told him about it and he just forgot.

“To Luis’s annual barbeque,” Messi adds impatiently when Sergio doesn’t answer, rolling his eyes at him and Sergio figures he should probably start calling him Leo from now on. Going to a team get-together however sounds like a monumentally bad idea.

“Sorry, i already have plans,” he mumbles, hopes Messi - Leo will let him off the hook, but of course he doesn’t.

“You never miss Luis’ barbeque,” he says, his gaze far too inquisitive for Sergio’s liking, the suspicion clear in his eyes.

“I just forgot,” he answers lamely, making a vague gesture with his hands and it’s supposed to divert Messi’s attention, but instead it makes him incredibly self-conscious and suddenly he can’t stop overthinking his every move, can’t stop wondering if this is something Geri would do, if he would act like this or talk like this, if he’s going to give himself away any moment, because he might look like Gerard but isn’t acting like him. He’s so lost in thought, he almost walks into a wall, if it wasn’t for Messi’s hand twisting into the back of his shirt and pulling him back.

“What’s going on with you?” Messi asks, the suspicion in his eyes now replaced with concern. “You’ve been off all day.”

“It’s nothing,” Sergio shrugs, wishes they were back in the dressing room already, so he could escape the other man’s inquisitive gaze.

Messi nods, but doesn’t look convinced, his expression still questioning. “You know you can always talk to me,” he offers and God it’s more than tempting.

“I’m…,” Sergio starts and he’s this close to spilling it all, dying to finally let someone in on his secret and would it really be so bad if some of their teammates knew? It’s not like they would immediately run to the press. Messi is looking up at him expectantly and it would be so easy to just tell him, but he knows he can’t do it without talking to Gerard first, can’t betray his trust like that, so he averts his gaze and closes his mouth again. “Never mind,” he mumbles instead, breathing a sigh of relief when they finally reach the dressing room and Messi walks over to his locker.

*

The sound of his phone rudely jolts him awake and for a moment he feels disoriented, dazedly blinking his eyes open and it’s only the crick in his neck and the pain in his lower back that clues him in to the fact that he must have fallen asleep on the sofa.

He yawns deeply as he fumbles for his phone, glancing at the clock and _Shit._ How is it already almost ten when he only sat down to check his messages. Over two hours ago.

“Hello?” he answers his phone, not bothering to check the caller ID, barely managing to stifle another yawn. 

“Did i wake you?” the amusement in Gerard’s voice is unmistakable and Sergio grimaces when the video finally loads and his own face swims into view. Yeah, still weird as hell.

“Wait,” Gerard is still grinning, his expression annoyingly smug. “Did you actually fall asleep on the sofa? Man, you’re getting old.”

“Oh, shut up,” Sergio grumbles, still too sleepy to get properly annoyed. “You’d be exhausted too if you’ve had my day,” and suddenly he can’t help but feel a little jealous that Gerard has two more days until he has to go back to training.

“This bad?” Gerard asks.

“You have no idea,” Sergio groans, heaving himself into a more comfortable position. “I spent all day worried i’d say or do something wrong and give myself away. It’s exhausting when you’re so afraid of doing something wrong that you can’t even talk to people properly,” he sighs. “This is the first time today, i feel like i can just be myself. I can’t believe i’ve actually been looking forward to talking to you.”

Gerard chuckles. “Then it must be really bad.”

“Something like that,” Sergio grins, some of the stress off the day finally falling off of him as he watches Gerard bustle around in his kitchen, staring at the can of soup in his hand with a frown creasing his brows.

“Second drawer to the left,” Sergio laughs.

“Thanks,” Gerard mumbles sheepishly, rustling around in the drawer, a low curse slipping from his lips when his hair falls into his face. “Can i please cut your hair? It’s driving me crazy.”

“Don’t you dare.” It’s taken him over a year to even get it back to this length, there’s no way he’s going to let Gerard ruin it now.

Gerard grumbles something under his breath that Sergio doesn’t understand, but he’s sure it’s something rude, so he doesn’t bother asking and just watches Gerard fumble with the can opener instead, his thoughts drifting back to today’s events. “Hey, did you have any luck finding out anything more on how we’ll be able to switch back?”

Gerard looks up at the camera, shakes his head regretfully. “Not really. I did some research, but mostly it was just a waste of time.”

Sergio hums thoughtfully. “Maybe we should focus on why we switched bodies in the first place, instead of trying to figure out how to switch back?”

“And how do you propose we do that?”

“I have no idea.”

Gerard laughs. “How helpful.”

Sergio scratches his beard. “I almost told Messi today.”

“You did what?” Gerard head snaps up, his expression somewhere between confused and worried. “How the hell did that happen?”

Sergio shrugs. “He cornered me after training, kept nagging me about how i was acting strange.”

“You have to be more careful,” Gerard says, an edge of panic to his voice.

“Relax, i will,” Sergio sighs deeply. “But would it really be that bad if we told someone? It would make our lives so much easier. You have no idea how hard it is to pretend your someone else all the time.”

“I guess i’m gonna find out soon,” Gerard groans. “But i still think telling people is a bad idea. No one is gonna believe us anyway. They’re either gonna think we’re insane or laugh at us.”

“Maybe so, but i still think it would be worth it. We’d …your soup is boiling over.”

“Shit,” Gerard turns to pull the pan from the stove, unsuccessfully trying to tuck his hair behind his ears as he tries to avert an even bigger mess. “Are you sure i can’t cut your hair?” he grumbles, soup forgotten now as he scowls at the camera.

“No,” Sergio rolls his eyes, smiling softly. “We agreed on no changes to our appearances. Just get a damn hair tie.”

“That’s too bad,” there’s suddenly a mischievous glint in Gerard’s eyes. “I was really looking forward to getting my name tattooed across your ass.”

Sergio laughs. “You wouldn’t.”

“And how would you know?” Gerard grins back.

“Because you’re terrified of needles. You’d never be able to sit through getting a tattoo,” Sergio answers smugly, reveling in the slightly surprised look on Gerard’s face.

“Fine. You’ve got me,” Gerard grumbles. 

Sergio smirks triumphantly, watches Gerard pour his soup into a bowl. “But you know, if you’ve ever wanted a tattoo. I wouldn’t mind getting it for you,” he suggests. “Pain and needle-free and all. It’s a once in a lifetime offer really. You just have to hope we don’t switch back while the needle is still stuck in your skin,” Sergio adds with a chuckle.

Gerard shudders. “Thanks, i’m good.”

“Suit yourself,” Sergio leans back on the sofa, burying his head in the cushions and he should probably hang up and let Gerard eat his soup in peace, but he’s not ready yet to spend his evening all by himself. It's nice to have some company, even if it’s just Gerard.


	4. Surprise Visit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally found the motivation to continue this. I can't promise regular updates, but i've outlined most of the plot now and i'll try to finish it eventually.
> 
> I hope you'll still enjoy the fic, even if it's been a while.

_One week later_

Sergio turns around and hits his elbow against a shelf. Again. He curses under his breath and scowls at the dresser, like Gerard’s wardrobe is solely at fault for everything that’s gone wrong in his life for the last few days. How does a person even have a closet this small? It can barely even be called a walk-in closet. There’s hardly any room to stand, the light is atrocious and everything is so crammed with clothes that it’s impossible to find anything, especially after his little impromptu shopping spree to improve the sad state of Gerard’s wardrobe.

He opens another drawer, frowns when he still can’t find any socks. Instead there’s a random mess of things in there, like in every other drawer he’s opened so far and Gerard’s organisational skills definitely leave a lot to be desired for. 

“Fucking finally,” he breathes out when he finally finds a pair of socks he deems somewhat acceptable, in the last possible drawer of course because his life is just that much of a cosmic joke. 

Still grumbling, he marches into the adjacent bathroom, because his hair is still a complete mess and he’s already thirty minutes late. Thankfully there’s now an acceptable assortment of beauty products on the washstand, so he can at least make himself look somewhat presentable. Not that it’s particularly easy to get Gerard’s unruly hair under control. How Gerard could live with just regular shower gel and shampoo however is completely incomprehensible.

Ten minutes later he grabs his keys and a jacket and he’s already halfway out the door when his phone rings.

“What?” he barks without bothering to look at the caller ID.

“Turn your camera on,” is the response on the other side of the line and Sergio flinches. Will it ever get any less weird hearing the sound of his own voice?

“Miss seeing your own face this much?” Sergio teases but turns on the camera anyway, even if it makes the whole situation infinitely more confusing. It’s also weirdly comforting, seeing the one other person who understands. 

“Fuck off,” Gerard laughs.

Sergio chuckles. “Eloquent as always.”

“Look at you using fancy words,” Gerard grins.

“Whatever,” Sergio shakes his head in amusement. “What do you even want? I’m late.”

“You’re always late. No one will even notice,” Gerard shifts on the sofa, attention now fully turned towards the phone, eyes going wide in shock. “What the hell are you wearing?”

Sergio looks down at his outfit, at his floral print sweatpants and the black turtleneck, wonders if he should have gone with a more colorful sweater instead or maybe different shoes, even if Gerard’s black combat boots are slowly becoming his favorite pair of shoes. “I went shopping. Your wardrobe was pathetic,” he shrugs, laughs at Gerard’s outraged expression.

“You’re gonna get me on all the worst dressed lists in no time,” he groans.

“As if,” Sergio snorts. “You buy all your clothes five sizes too big, there’s no way I could make you look any worse even if I tried. You’re gonna thank me by the time this is over.Trust me”

“Sure,” Gerard laughs and Sergio is half tempted to just stay on the line with Gerard. It feels so refreshingly normal, laughing and trading insults like his whole life isn’t completely turned upside down, but he has somewhere to be and at this point he’s so late, it’s bordering on rude.

“Listen, i’m sorry, but i’ve really gotta go. You can call me tonight and insult me some more if you feel like it,” he smirks, hand already moving towards the screen to hang up when Gerard’s voice halts him mid-movement.

“Where are you even going? It’s not like you know all that many people in Barcelona,” he asks, an edge of concern to his voice.

“I’m on my way over to Leo’s,” Sergio explains with a shrug.

“Leo?” Gerard gasps, like he can’t quite trust his own ears.

“Yeah,” Sergio rolls his eyes. “You know, short, argentine, pretty good footballer, used to be your teammate not too long ago.”

“How did he go from Messi to Leo in less than a week? I thought you hated him.”

“I don’t hate him. Why would I hate him?” Sergio shakes his head, almost starts laughing at the look of utter shock on his own face looking back at him through the phone. So this is what he looks like when someone catches him completely off guard. He might have to work on his poker face in the future. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he laughs.

“So you’re what? Friends now?” 

“Yeah, maybe. I don’t know,” Sergio shrugs. “But he lets me hang out at his place and play with Hulk.”

“His dog?” Gerard asks incredulously.

“Yeah,” Sergio nods, feels a little shy all of a sudden. He’s never really liked showing his more vulnerable side, especially not to people like Gerard who’ll just end up using it to make fun of him. “I really miss my dogs and since you won’t let me get one..,” he trails off. “Leo doesn’t ask too many questions, he just lets me come over and play with Hulk and laughs at me. It’s actually quite nice,” Sergio grins.

Gerard frowns. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? What if he finds out?” 

“He won’t. Don’t worry,” he says, refrains from running his fingers through his hair. It was hassle enough to get Gerard’s hair into any kind of shape without him messing it up because he can’t stop fidgeting. “I’m not a complete idiot.”

“Doubtful,” Gerard quips but he still looks shaken and Sergio is starting to wonder if there might be more to Gerard’s reaction than just genuine surprise or fear that Messi might find out about their situation.

“Man, what are you so afraid of?” Sergio grins. “That Leo is gonna spill all your dirty secrets?” but - _Oh_ judging from the caught look on Gerard’s face he might have hit a little too close to home and suddenly he feels bad about putting him on the spot like that. There are more than enough things about him he’d rather not have Gerard know, so what right does he have prying into the other’s secrets?

“Listen, whatever it is you don’t want me knowing. I don’t care and I'm not going to pry. I’m just going over there to play with Leo’s dog. Nothing more,” he reassures.”If it makes you feel any better, i can just cancel.”

“No, it’s fine. You should go,” Gerard shakes his head, makes a dismissive gesture with his free hand. “You just caught me by surprise and maybe I overreacted a little. It’s nothing really,” he insists, but it all sounds a little too forced, said a little too quickly. Sergio doesn’t really buy it. But Gerard looks at least partly appeased, less shaken than before, so maybe it’s better to just let it go and not make it any more awkward than it already is.

‘“If you say so,” he shrugs, doesn’t really know what else to say. 

I do,” Gerard manages a grin that doesn’t look completely fake. “Have fun on your playdate then.”

“I will,” Sergio laughs. “I’ll call you when I get back,” he waves at the camera before he hangs up.

It’s already dark when he finally makes it back, much later than he actually intended to and he’s so busy trying to figure out what to order for dinner that he doesn’t notice the strange noises coming from the living room until he’s standing right in the middle of it, almost bumping into Gerard’s solid frame.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he splutters, desperately tries to calm his racing heart. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry,” Gerard laughs. “I got sick of waiting outside, so I let myself in, wanted to see if you’ve destroyed my place yet - oh sorry. What do you call it? Right. _Redecorating_ ,” he chuckles.

“Funny.”

“Oh and i brought someone to see you,” Gerard lets out a low whistle and Sergio frowns in confusion until he suddenly hears the soft sounds of paws on the stone floor, followed by a furry snout peeking around the corner, followed by another and another, until all of his dogs are crowded around Gerard’s legs, tails wagging happily.

Sergio crouches down, his grin so bright it almost hurts as he reaches out to them, doesn’t even mind that they’re not instantly flocking towards him, just looking up at him with their heads tilted to the side, because they must not be able to recognize him when he smells and looks so very different. 

“I can’t believe you brought all of them here,” he smiles up at Gerard, feels so grateful he couldn’t possibly put it all into words, especially not when Tango takes a tentative step into his direction, sniffing at his hand for a moment before he lets himself be petted.

“You’re welcome,” Gerard shrugs a little sheepishly. “I’ve got the weekend off anyway and since you missed them so much, i figured we’d take a little trip, plus i kinda needed to get out of the house anyway.”

“Thank you.”

They eventually end up outside on the patio, Sergio curled up on the wooden bench with Lizzy and Zaphiro, Gerard lounging in the chair next to him and while it’s already more fall than summer, it’s still nice, the cold bite of the air slowly chasing away the heat of the day.

Gerard however doesn’t look entirely comfortable, his shivering still visible even if he’s trying hard to suppress it, arms wrapped tightly around himself, trying to prevent the cold air from seeping through his thin t-shirt.

“Here,” Sergio holds out his hoodie to him, grins at the disgruntled look on Gerard’s face as he pulls it over his head and seeing his own body in Gerard’s clothes does very confusing things to his heart.

Why are you always this cold?” Gerard grumbles. “It sucks.”

Sergio laughs. “You’ll get used to it, trust me.”

“Well, I don't want to,” Gerard pouts, pulls his sleeves over his hands.

Sergio smiles fondly. “Did you really come all the way up here, just so i could see my dogs?” he asks, fingers gently playing with Zaphiro’s fluffy ears.

“Yes and no,” Gerard admits, looks down at his cloth-covered fingers. “Your family was driving me crazy,” he adds quietly.

Sergio heads shoots up in alarm. “What did they do?”

“Nothing really, just,” Gerard shrugs. “They keep dropping by unannounced all the time. It’s like there’s always someone in the house. I can never just get a minute of peace and quiet to myself. How do you deal with so many people always coming over?”

“I like having people around. It’s comforting,” Sergio shrugs. “I don’t like being alone.”

Gerard hums thoughtfully.

“If they bother you too much, you can just tell them to give you space. They’ll understand.”

Gerard nods. “They love you a lot, you know.”

Sergio has to look away at that, gaze straying over the dark garden instead, doesn’t want Gerard to see the sadness in his eyes, suddenly feels terribly homesick for his friends and family.

“You ok?”

“Yeah,” Sergio nods, has to clear his throat before he can continue. “So how are things going at the club?”

Gerard sighs. “I don’t know. A lot. Confusing,” he scratches his beard. “Not as bad as i thought.”

“Ha!” Sergio exclaims, flinches when Tango, startled by the sudden noise, stirs from his place at his feet and bumps against his legs. He reaches down to scratch him between his ears. “Just admit that you already love it there.”

“You wish,” Gerard chuckles. 

“Not really,” Sergio laughs wistfully. “The universe might collapse if you did.”

“Possibly,” Gerard grins, but his expression quickly turns serious again. “It’s gonna be international break soon,” he says.

“Yeah,” Sergio nods. “Are you going to be ok having to go?”

Gerard shrugs. ”I guess so. At least they’re not gonna whistle me this time,” he pauses to look up at Sergio. “Are you going to be ok not going?”

“I don’t know,” Sergio looks down at his hands, tries to ignore the tightness in his chest. “I’ll have to.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing you can do about it. Just don’t mess it up.”

“I won’t,” Gerard nudges against Sergio’s shin with his toe until he looks up and their eyes meet. “I would never do that to you,” he says and Sergio has never heard him sound this sincere.

“I know,” he whispers and leans back in his chair, a comfortable silence settling between them.

He lets his eyes drift across the garden, lets his thoughts wander. “What if we never switch back?” he asks eventually, hates the feeling of dread flooding his chest at the thought alone. There’s still so much he wants to accomplish, so many records to break, so many memories left to make.

“I don’t think that’s gonna happen,” Gerard cocks his head to the side. “There has to be a point to all of this. A lesson to be learned or something. We just have to find out what it is.”

Sergio nods. “Let’s find out tomorrow then.”

**Author's Note:**

> I live for Kudos and Comments. Don't be shy, i usually don't bite ;)


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